Katie Cotugno Famous Quotes
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I like him so stupidly much.
Is this a date? I mean, like, right now? You and me?"
"I don't know, Molly Barlow. Do you want it to be?
It occurs to me, not for the first time, that things change whether you're around to notice them or not.
I imagine him grown up and finished with med school, patients lying on the operating table - reaching inside people's rib cages, fixing their broken hearts.
It's just really hard to remember your hometown isn't the only place in the world
I'm not your type.""Who" title="Katie Cotugno Quotes: I'm not your type."
"Who cares? I hate my type. I want you.
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It occurred to her to wonder if this was what growing up meant, to continuously find yourself in situations that you didn't feel remotely prepared to handle.
It felt like he could open up my head and see inside.
I could act surprised, but this is why I cam here, isn't it?
My eyes had been closed for a few minutes when he said it: "I love you," he muttered, so quiet, like a prayer whispered into my neck.
"Hmm?" I was nearly asleep myself, edges blurring; I was one hundred percent sure I'd misheard.
"I love you." He said it again, clearer this time, right into my ear, breath tickling. I felt like a hydrogen bomb. I tried to be very still, but I knew he could feel my entire body tensing, a runner ready to begin a race --
Get set--
Go.
I opened my mouth, shut it again.
Oh God.
I did love him, is the awfulness of it. I'd loved Sawyer since the seventh grade, when Allie and I began keeping a list of the places we spotted him. I loved his quick, blistered musician hands and the honest soul he kept hidden safe under all his bravado, and I loved how I was still, every day, learning him. I loved his silly, secret goofy side and the way he had of making me feel like I was a tall tree, just from the way he looked at my face. I loved Sawyer LeGrande so much that sometimes I couldn't sit still for the fullness of it, but when I opened up my mouth to tell him so, nothing came out.
I could do anything for him, I realized suddenly. I could give him anything. But not that. If I said that to him, I knew I could never get it back.
"Go to sleep," I whispered, and he didn't say it again.
I hate myself for letting him know that I still think about him, that I carry him around inside my skin.
The thing about hiding out like this was that it did get boring, every once in a while. It occurred to Gabby to wonder if possibly she was missing something great. For all her bravado, it bothered her sometimes, that she couldn't make herself do what seemed to come so naturally to everyone else.
Wait, I almost shouted, but didn't, and that would be my burden to bear.
Why are you going to let people who are hell-bent on not forgiving you keep you from something that could actually be great?
One thing about living in South Florida is that everywhere you go is violently air-conditioned,
In the morning, I wake up and find a pomegranate on my doorstep: red and perfect, round as the world itself.
Jealousy made you vulnerable. Meanness just made you an ice queen.
As if there's some invisible string that kept us tethered the entire time he was away and that's tightening now ...
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"Yeah? What's up?" "
I love you, you know that?"
"I- ... I do know that, actually. But- Jesus, Reena." He laughs a bit, disbelieving. "It's nice to hear."
It's nice to say, I want to tell him, then realize I've got a whole country to say it. I've got a whole continent. I've got the whole world.
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I am remembering so clearly how he looked when he was eight, when he was eleven, when he was seventeen. Sawyer and I were only together for a few months before he left, but he was my golden boy for so long before that he would have taken the guts of me with him even if we'd never been a couple at all.
All I could manage to do was watch him from across the room and wish there was a way to capture him, to write him down.
I like how the implication there is that the fault, dear Brutus, lies not in our stars, but in me. Give me the car keys.
I never knew that looking could do that before, that it could feel so obscenely intimate.
If you liked being alone all the time, that would be one thing. But I don't actually think you do. I think you're just letting yourself be scared.
Somehow this seems inevitable, the natural course of things. Maybe he's a homing pigeon. Maybe I'm his home.
Nothing about you, my dear, has ever been lost on me.
A future as lonely as the surface of the moon and still just the sight of him feels like a homecoming, like a song I used to know but forgot.
Do you miss her?
I blinked. Did I what? This was my best friend since preschool we were talking about, the girl whose snack and math homework I'd shared since before I had memorized my own phone number, who'd buried her cold, annoying little feet underneath me during a thousand different movie nights and showed me how to use a tampon. She'd grown up in my kitchen, she was my shadow- self - or I was hers - and Sawyer wanted to know if I missed her? What the hell kind of question was that?
God, the only thing worse than having a panic attack was trying to have one in secret while someone else was watching.
(my whole life a holding pattern, some variation on wait and see)
I didn't know how to let you go.
I was trying not to lose you. But I lost you anyway.
Hey, stranger, he says as I climb into the passenger seat, in a voice like I'm not one at all.
The feeling of standing on the edge of a canyon and screaming, waiting for an echo that refused to come.
I wasn't unpopular, exactly. I was just . . . unequipped.
I wanted to know everything there was to know about him, wanted to hear every single one of his stories and learn all his memories well enough that they became my memories too, until there'd never been a time when we didn't know each other.
Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.
I don't know. I think I could have been a good dad.
Patrick shakes his head and we're both on the verge of tears then, like we've finally destroyed each other, finally eaten each other alive. We're never coming back from this; I know it. Both of us have finally gone too far.
Can you allow for the possibility that you're more special than you give yourself credit for?
I loved ... the honest soul he kept hidden safe under all his bravado, and I loved how I was still, every day, learning him.
There's no limit to the ways that we have managed to fail each other as best friends.
Summer in Broward County is brutal and haunted,